


Under Cover of Darkness

by Sarahtoo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: A very little, F/M, Smutty McSmutsalot, Undercover, With a little plot thrown in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-19 00:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11301990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: Phryne and Jack spent the evening undercover in a club. She's understandably concerned when she wakes afterward in a strange room.





	Under Cover of Darkness

Phryne woke and knew at once that something wasn’t right. She lay prone, her arms trapped beneath her, pins and needles pinging through as she shifted to take the pressure off of them. Her mouth was dry, and she was quite sure that there was something that she needed to remember; lying still, she racked her brain, trying to piece together the events of the previous evening.

She and Jack had gone dancing—in pursuit of a criminal, of course, since dancing was definitely not Jack’s favorite way to spend an evening. They’d found their man, and witnessed his crime—the bartender at the club had been selling something other than liquor—and they’d made a plan to take him in. The constables had bundled him into a police car, and Phryne had talked Jack into just one more dance before they called it a night. Her Jack had been reluctant, of course.

“I have paperwork to do, Miss Fisher,” he’d grumbled as she’d pulled him onto the dance floor to the notes of “Let’s Do It” played flawlessly on the coronet.

“It will still be there afterwards, Jack,” she’d cajoled, pushing out her lower lip into what she hoped was a pretty pout. “And I do so love to dance.”

“Just the once, then,” was his response, and he’d swept her into his arms. 

For all his grousing, Jack was a very good dancer—she’d known it since that waltz at the Grand Hotel, but he so rarely let that side of him show. Last night, he’d been on fire—his footwork was precise, and he’d let her writhe against him in a way that she would have thought he’d consider illegal. She’d made the most of it, too—if they were only to have one dance, she wanted it to be memorable, and she wanted him to either put off his paperwork until morning or hurry through it and back to her bed.

They’d laughed as they left the dance floor, Jack’s hands at her waist holding her close as he kissed the side of her neck, both of them panting with exertion. One last stop at the bar to wet their whistles—the replacement bartender had given them rather a nasty look, come to think of it—and they’d been on their way. 

That part was clear. She remembered thinking as they’d left the club that it was a good thing she’d ridden with Jack in his police-issue car, because she planned to snuggle up beside him as he drove her home, her hands wandering to various places that might make him blush. To that end, she’d begun by stroking a hand over his bottom, earning one of his half-admonitory but really intrigued head tilts for it—she’d answered him with a cheeky smile and a squeeze as she paused outside the door, and his arm had wrapped around her shoulders to bring her face to his for a kiss.

And then it all went black.

It was still black—or dark, at least—and her head ached. She wondered whether she’d been knocked out, and if so, where she’d been taken. She tried to gather clues without making any obvious movements. The mattress beneath her—and it _was_ a mattress, she was sure of that much—was remarkably comfortable, and her head rested on a pillow. She could tell that she was still dressed, at least in her slip, from the slide of the silk against her skin, and when she shifted her legs slightly, the lace edges of her knickers slithered against her thighs. That was probably something to be relieved about, if she’d been abducted. But who would have done such a thing? And why? As revenge for the bartender’s arrest? 

Breathing deeply, she tried to place the room’s scent, attempting to be as quiet as possible, just in case someone was listening. The sheets smelled of eucalyptus washing powder and summer sun—obviously, they’d been dried on a line—and the air of the room was an intriguing mix of bay rum and whiskey, plus a dash of a manly musk. It seemed familiar, but she could also smell remnants of her own perfume, which might account for that.

Her eyes still closed, she listened carefully. Was that breathing she could hear, or just the sighing of the wind? There was a small creak, as if someone shifted in a chair or possibly moved across wooden floors. She supposed that if she wasn’t alone, it was better to know, so she decided to risk it.

Opening her eyes just the slightest crack, she continued to keep her breathing slow and steady. There wasn’t much light in the room, as if a lamp was on elsewhere and and shining through a cracked-open doorway. An open door would be a good thing, should she need to make a run for it. 

A few feet away, she could see a slumped form sitting in what looked like a hard-backed chair. Long legs stretched out in front of him—definitely a him, judging by the width of his shoulders and the size of his bare feet. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his chin drooped in sleep. He wore dark trousers and a white shirt, its sleeves rolled up to expose muscular forearms, but his face remained in shadow.

She tensed her muscles, readying herself to leap up and aim for freedom. If she could make the door before he woke, she was sure she could find a way out of this… whatever it was. She was just about to push off the doona that covered her when the realization hit. _The size of his bare feet._ If he was guarding her, would his feet be bare? In her experience—not that she truly had a lot of experience with abduction, it was true, at least not first-hand—criminals didn’t tend to make themselves comfortable when they were on guard duty. Perhaps a little further investigation was warranted.

Keeping as still and quiet as possible (thank goodness the pins and needles in her arms had subsided), Phryne opened her eyes again, looking more carefully at the man in the chair. Long, narrow feet, dark trousers stretched over muscular thighs, broad hands slightly out of proportion to the rest of his body but still beautifully formed, wide shoulders, and a glimpse of a cleft chin and strong jaw. Breathing in again, she tried to match the scent of the room to the shape in the chair, and came up with an answer that loosened every muscle in her body.

“Jack,” she said out loud, and watched him snap awake. 

Jack sat forward in the chair, his folded arms falling to his sides. He scanned the room quickly before bringing his eyes back to hers.

“Phryne,” he breathed, and slid out of the chair to kneel beside the bed. He had a bruise above one eye, and the skin beneath it was beginning to purple. Phryne reached out to touch his face, her fingers gentle.

“I hope the other guy looks worse,” she remarked, her voice hoarse with sleep.

Jack huffed out a small chuckle and raised his hand to stroke her hair out of her eyes. As his fingers passed over a particular spot, Phryne winced.

“She definitely looks better, to my eyes,” he murmured.

“Me?” Phryne’s hand moved back to her own face, finding the lump on her own head and exploring it carefully. “What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything,” he admitted. “You don’t remember?”

“Not a thing past squeezing your bottom,” she admitted, and shot him a sly look. “Though I remember that quite well.”

Jack laughed again and pushed up from the floor, coming to sit on the bed beside her, and she rolled to her back to look up at him. He stroked her hair and trailed his fingers over her shoulder—her bare shoulder, she noticed, glancing down, though she could see the strap of her dark green slip.

“I leaned in to kiss you after you’d been so cheeky,” he shot her a wryly amused glance when she snorted lightly at his pun, “and just at that moment, someone pushed out the doors behind us, knocking into you. You fell into me, and our foreheads collided.” He shook his head. “Thankfully, I have experience with getting hit on the head,” his mouth stretched in his almost-smile as she laughed out loud at that, “but you were out like a light.”

“You’re kidding,” she said, pushing herself to sit up. Jack reached to steady her, but she didn’t feel at all the worse for wear, with the exception of a slight headache.

“Not a word of a lie,” he assured her. “You collapsed, and I brought you home and called Mac.”

“Mac is here?” Phryne looked past him at the doorway. “Wait, is this your house?” Leaning around him, she peered around the room in the semi-darkness. She’d been angling for Jack to bring her to his home since they’d become lovers just over two weeks ago.

Jack laughed softly. “She was here, but she left—she checked you for concussion and told me that if you didn’t wake by morning, I should call her again, and that I should try to wake you periodically through the night.” He stroked an open hand down her arm. “I’d tried twice so far, without luck—in another half hour, I was going to try again. I’m glad I won’t have to.”

“I can’t believe it took a head injury to get me into your house, Jack Robinson.” Phryne crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him. She held on to her scowl with some difficulty as he tried to hide his quick glance at where her bosom swelled with the motion.

“I was trying to maintain that air of mystery you’ve said you like so much.”

“Hmph,” Phryne said softly. 

“Oh come now, don’t be like that. For what it’s worth, I was planning to bring you here tonight anyway,” he admitted softly, and his mouth quirked up in a wicked grin as his eyes flicked up from her breasts to her face. “It was closer.”

Phryne met his eyes, and the humor in them melted her indignation. She let her hands fall to her lap and rest there, smiling up at him.

“Does your head hurt? Shall I get you a powder?” Jack managed to sound contrite, though she could still see the twinkle in his eyes.

“Yes, I think that’s a good idea,” she responded. “And I need a visit to your water closet.”

“Do you need me to help you?”

“I’m certain I can manage, thank you.” 

She swung her legs off the side of the bed, hissing when her feet came into contact with the chilly floor. Jack stood and helped her up, watching her carefully to see if she seemed unsteady on her feet, but she felt utterly normal apart from the headache. On that thought, she glanced around, finding her dress and bag hanging beside the washroom door. Good. Perhaps this evening could be salvaged after all. She felt a smirk edge up the corners of her mouth, and wrestled it under control to glance at Jack. He watched her carefully, and she reached out to stroke her hand down his chest as she moved toward the bathroom.

“I really would like that powder, Jack,” she said, careful not to sound to pitiful—she didn’t want him getting the impression that she wasn’t entirely up to snuff. “I’ll only be a moment.”

“I’ll get you a glass of water,” he replied, and he turned to exit the room, glancing back at her as he stepped through the door. Phryne sent him a little wave and a sunny smile.

When Jack was out of sight, she reached for her bag, the smirk returning to her mouth. She’d brought her internal device, and now seemed like a good time to be prepared.

Five minutes later, she was back in bed, necessities taken care of and knickers tucked carefully into her handbag. Jack came through the door, glass in one hand, the other hand stirring the headache powder in.

“Here you are, love,” he said, handing her the glass. 

“Thank you, darling!” Phryne made sure that her voice was bright as she took the glass. “It’s only a tiny headache. This will do me up right.” She drank the powder, her eyes on Jack, and handed him the glass. He turned to set it and the spoon on the side table.

“What time is it?” Phryne asked as she snuggled under the covers. This really was a rather comfortable bed.

“Nearly four,” Jack replied. He stood next to the bed, casually delicious, and looked down at her, the smile that quirked one side of his mouth subtle and telling—at least to her. 

“Come to bed, then?” Phryne reached a hand out to him and scooted across the bed to make room. “I’m sure I’ll sleep better if you’re here with me.” 

Jack tilted his head at her. “Only to sleep? You took a nasty knock to the head, Phryne.”

“Of course!” Drat, her voice always rose when she was lying to him! Why was that? She could lie to anyone else without any trouble at all, but Jack… She smiled sunnily up at him. “I’m fine, Jack!” She assured him, and her voice stayed normal this time because it was true.

Jack narrowed his eyes at her, but lifted his hands to his shirt fastenings. Phryne settled back, content to watch. And what a show it was! Even without trying, he was a pleasure to see in motion. The shifting of his muscles under his skin as he pulled off first his shirt and then his undershirt—she enjoyed seeing the lines drawn on him from wearing only an undershirt while bicycling or gardening. His upper arms, forearms, and neck were tanned, and the rest of his skin was golden where the sun hadn’t touched it. His chest was broad, topped by flat pectorals and nipples a few shades darker pink than his lips, plus just a dusting of hair. She licked her lips delicately as he bent to remove his trousers. His bottom, even through his cotton underwear, was beautifully formed, round and muscular, and her fingers itched to touch it. 

Even before they’d become lovers, she’d found it hard to keep from touching him, but since he’d given her the privilege of intimate touch, she had mostly stopped holding herself back. And he didn’t appear to mind, as long as she was discreet—in fact, he seemed to relish it. He was a very tactile man himself, often touching her as he passed or as they walked. She supposed that going without touch for so long after his wife left him must have been difficult; he wasn’t the type to engage in casual liaisons.

And now he had her to touch him. The thought was smug and a little possessive—something she’d never thought she’d be, but that she found oddly satisfying with Jack.

As he climbed into bed, she scooted closer, snuggling up against his side, one hand stroking across his chest. His skin was velvety smooth except for the odd scar—a slash on his ribcage that was obviously from a knife, another on his side that looked like a burn, one high on his shoulder that might be from a bullet. She hadn’t yet asked about those scars, though she intended to; for now, she’d just touch them and be thankful that the wounds that caused them hadn’t been enough to keep him from her.

Jack wrapped his arms around her, and his grip seemed a little tighter than usual, so Phryne moved closer, throwing one leg over his, her thigh gently nudging his cock. Her hand on his chest stroked him softly, tracing the lines of muscle and bone. He buried his face in her hair.

“Jack?”

“I’m all right,” he murmured against her. “It’s just… you’re never that still, Phryne.”

“Jack.” She felt the tenderness well up inside her and knew it was reflected in her voice. “I really am all right. My head’s almost as hard as yours. I’m sure Mac told you that.”

He laughed softly, no more than an exhalation, really, but enough. “She did, actually.”

“See?” Phryne lifted her head and met his eyes, hoping her own humor would help offset his worry. He looked back at her, his face set in its usual serious lines, though she could see the lightening of his mood in his eyes. How this man could communicate so much with so little expression, she would never know.

“Do I need to convince you?” Phryne’s eyes flicked down to his lips and her voice dropped.

“We’re meant to be sleeping,” he responded weakly, even as his hands stroked down her back. She felt him jolt when they reached the edge of her slip, which had bunched up around her bottom, and discovered her bare skin. His groan reverberated in his chest; she could feel it against her fingers as much as hear it.

“But I’m not tired, Jack,” she whispered, and pushed up to take his mouth with hers.

Jack groaned again, something that might have been “dammit, Phryne” if she’d let him speak, and kissed her back, his lips urgent on hers. Phryne felt the spark of attraction that was always between them burst into flame, ignited by the taste of him. On a moan, she rolled toward him, sliding her leg all the way over his hip to pull herself up and onto his chest. His hands swept down to her bottom to knead, centering her above his rapidly hardening length. Phryne slid a hand up to the back of his neck, holding his mouth to hers as she moved her body against him. 

Arousing him at such close quarters was a new sensation for her. In their sexual encounters over the past weeks, by the time they’d gotten this close, he had always been fully erect, and while that had its pleasures, there was something about the transition of his body that made her feel powerful for causing it. She rolled her hips gently, the heat of his cock remarkable even through his undershorts. Her silk slip stroked between them, a gentle abrasion between her nipples and his chest that was both welcome and keeping her too far away, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop kissing him to take it off.

Phryne wound her arms around his head, her mouth avid on his, as his palms slid over her body. He stroked one hand up to her breast, insinuating his thumb between them to press her nipple, and the other slid over the mound of her buttock to cup between her legs. Phryne gasped his name at the sensation of those long fingers circling the opening to her body, slick with her arousal.

In response, Jack gathered the hem of her slip and tugged it up between them to bunch under her arms. He tore his mouth away from hers, his hands lifting her entire body higher against his so that he could cover her breast with his mouth. Phryne whimpered, her hands scrabbling to find purchase along the top of the ironwork headboard; looking down, she saw that his head was mostly hidden by the silk, leaving her nothing but sensation. She closed her eyes to savor it, letting her head fall forward limply.

The warm wetness of his tongue licked around her nipples, first one then the other, before he covered more of her breast with his wide-open mouth. At the same time, his hands moved down her back to her hips, the fingers of both hands now working between her legs, one in front and one behind. When he slid one long finger inside of her, Phryne could not control the motion of her hips; she rolled against him, the slickness of her body creating a wet clicking sound as their bodies met and released. Jack groaned and added a second finger, the thumb of his other hand spiralling in and out around her clit. His lips on her nipple sent lightning jolts of pleasure converged with the feelings between her legs to become a knot of tension that grew in her belly. She could feel it building along the insides of her thighs, tightening in an exquisite almost-pain. The pleasure built, and Phryne’s hands spasmed as it burst into an orgasm; she threw back her head, her body shaking.

Without pausing, Jack’s hands between her legs moved to her shuddering hips and he pulled her up the bed to position her over his mouth. Her slip fell down to cover his head as he tucked his shoulders between her legs, his hands holding her ass as if bringing a cup to his mouth. At the first touch of his tongue on her already throbbing flesh, Phryne cried out, the pleasure almost too much to bear.

“Oh god, Jack!”

Jack hummed against her, the vibrations rippling down his tongue where it moved within her body, his big hands kneading. Phryne arched her back, her hands gripping the headboard hard as her hips surged against him. 

Phryne had been surprised to learn that Jack loved oral sex, though in hindsight, she felt she shouldn’t have been. The man did love to eat. The first time they’d made love, he’d buried his head between her thighs, brought her to a screaming climax, and then _apologized_.

_“I’ll do better next time,” he’d said, his lips swollen and his cheeks flushed with color. “I was in a bit of a rush.” On those words, she’d felt his cock nudging at her entrance._

_“Rush me anytime, inspector,” she’d responded, before grabbing his head in both hands and bringing his lips to hers as she arched her hips to pull him inside her body._

Now, he was rushing again—she could feel a second orgasm building, making her toes curl and her thighs clench against his ears. Glancing down to where her slip covered him, she felt an illicit thrill at the sight. It felt somehow naughtier that he was hidden there than when his dark curls were visible, and she felt her breath catch as a new spike of pleasure pierced her. With a gasping laugh, she tilted her head back again and closed her eyes as she rode his mouth. Her climax, when it came, made her muscles seize, poor darling Jack’s head held immobile, squeezed by the flesh of her spasming thighs.

When her muscles relaxed, Phryne pushed herself down his chest, slithering across his skin, her slip riding up again to let her breasts brush his face. Jack’s hands stroked up her sides, keeping her close as she repositioned herself; her slip was again rucked up under her arms, and as he pushed at it, she lifted her hands and head to let him remove it. Naked, she brought her mouth close to breathe in the mixture of his aftershave and her musky fluids on his face.

“You, Jack Robinson,” she breathed, around sweeps of her tongue across his cheeks, “have a very talented mouth.” 

“It’s entirely the subject, Miss Fisher,” he responded, his smile a smug tilt of the lips.

She slid her hands into his hair, holding him still as she kissed him, wanting to taste that smile with the tang of herself on it. She felt his hands leave her waist and his hips rise as he shucked his undershorts, then his hands returned to her thighs, widening them to nestle his hard cock snugly between. The length of him rode along the line of her sex, all hardness and heat, and she moaned into his mouth as he rubbed against her. 

Lifting her head, she examined his face. His eyes were half-closed as he pulsed his hips, his mouth reddened from her kisses. Leaning in, she opened her mouth over his without touching him as she rocked her hips against him.

“Fuck me, Jack,” she whispered, the words raw in the charged heat of the room. When his eyes flashed open to lock on hers, she took his lower lip between her teeth and pushed her sex against his. 

With a growl, Jack flipped her, pressing her back against the mattress as he rolled himself between her thighs, repositioning his cock to ride upward, bumping her clitoris with his glans with every thrust. His eyes on hers, Jack slid his hands under her thighs and lifted them up to lie against his chest, her heels dangling over his shoulders.

“Are you ready, Miss Fisher?” His voice was unusually deep, even for him, and she watched as he reached down to position his cockhead at her entrance. She flung her arms out to the side and took handfuls of the bedding, licking her lips as she held his gaze.

“ _Please_ , Jack,” she whispered.

He tilted his head at her in that way that said “of course” and pushed inside, not stopping until he bottomed out—and then he pulled out and did it again, and again, faster and faster until he was pistoning into her, leaning on his fists with her knees bouncing on his shoulders. Phryne keened, the sound high and frantic, wishing she could control her mouth enough to say his name as the pleasure of his strokes slammed through her. 

She watched the muscles in his arms bunch with each thrust, saw his eyes close and his brow furrow with concentration and his lips pull back over his teeth in a grimace of effort. His jaw clenched, his cheeks hollowed, and his cheekbones flushed. She loved to watch him lose control—she hadn’t realized just how much she wanted to see it until the first time she’d bedded him. Jack was usually so contained—she’d known he had an undercurrent of passion, or she would not have pursued him for so long, but it was oddly satisfying to watch him come apart.

“Phryne,” he said through clenched teeth, “are you close? I’m close.” 

Phryne nodded frantically, still unable to speak. She bit her lower lip, feeling the tension rising in her belly again. 

“I’ll pull out—just go over,” Jack growled.

“No!” Phryne managed. She realized that she hadn’t told him she’d taken care of family planning, and of course he’d think... “Don’t have to.” The words, low and deep and guttural, ground out of her as her climax built.

Jack paused, and she whimpered. “Your device?”

“Yes. In.” She flexed her legs against his shoulders, urging him into motion, and watched him grin. “Don’t stop.”

“Well, in that case…” Jack began to pump his hips again, harder now, and Phryne’s breath became a moan. The room filled with the sounds of their flesh slapping together and their heaving breaths as they strove toward release. 

The pounding of Jack’s body against hers began to push Phryne up the bed, and she released the sheets to fling a hand up toward the headboard again. When she couldn’t find a piece of the ironwork to grasp, she tilted her head backward, arching her neck to see. Wrapping her fingers around one of the iron curls, she moved her other hand as well, the better to hold herself still and let him work. The additional pressure of each thrust was intense, the momentum setting her breasts to bouncing; she watched Jack’s eyes drop to them, his tongue sweeping out over his lips as if he could taste them. He groaned her name and redoubled his efforts; Phryne arched her back and cried out as his hips compressed her clit with his every entrance. 

She called his name and he came with a shout, his release a warm flood within her. Watching him, she admired the fierceness of his expression; she could feel the vibration of his voice in his chest against the backs of her legs as he pressed himself deep, shuddering as he came. Frantic with her own need to climax, she dropped a hand from the headboard to press her fingers to her clit; the extra stimulation brought her to her own peak with just a few strokes, and she moaned as the orgasm swept over her.

Panting, Jack pulled her legs off his shoulders and leaned close to kiss her smiling mouth. Phryne kissed him back, wrapping her arms and legs around him. After a few moments, he rolled to his side; Phryne made a small protesting sound and followed, still holding him close. She loved the weight of him, but knew that it would not be comfortable for long; instead, she sprawled over him, feeling his softened cock slip out of her body and loving the way his big hands stroked her back and arms. Nestling her head against his chest, she sighed contentedly.

“Thank you for a lovely evening, Jack,” she said softly, her fingers stroking his chest.

He chuckled, his arms tightening around her. “I enjoyed the dancing, and the _dancing_ , but next time let’s skip that middle part where you’re unconscious, all right?”

Phryne laughed, turning her face into his side. He smelled wonderful, a combination of his own scent and hers, plus a little of sweat and the cigarette smoke and whiskey of the club, and she inhaled greedily.

“I enjoyed going undercover with you, Jack,” she admitted, her voice almost shy.

“I think you’ll find that there were very few covers involved in what we just did. Oh, wait, you meant…” He laughed as she pinched him, raising her head in mock offense. Catching her hand, he leaned up to kiss her, his smile tender. “You are an excellent partner, Miss Fisher. I enjoy working with you, undercover or not.”

“That’s because I’m exceptional.” Phryne grinned as she said it.

“And so modest, too!” Jack affected surprise. “A prize among women.”

Snuggling down to lay her head on his chest once more, Phryne sighed happily. “It’s true, every word.”

“And I am unlikely to forget it, Miss Fisher.” Jack’s voice was warm and sincere. “Especially when under the covers.”

**Author's Note:**

> So Fire_Sign said (it's always that one, isn't it? Gotta love her evil ideas) that she wanted someone to write an entry for this month's "undercover detectives" trope where they were, quite literally, under the covers. Ahem. I hope this counts. :D


End file.
